


The Cottage

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Prequel to the Garrison's Gorillas stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 14:23:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: While having Meghada O'Donnell living down the road certainly turned out to be handy for the team, life-changing even, just how did a member of Clan O'Donnell end up in a tiny English village in the first place?  A glimpse into how it all came about.





	The Cottage

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you aren't disappointed and feel misled, the guys don't appear in this story, it taking place several years before they arrive at the Mansion. Still, some background seemed appropriate to better explain Meghada's place and influence in the community. Also the story introduces some of the village regulars who show up in the stories now and again. And for those who are surprised at her age here, remember, the Clan holds to their own ways, ways rooted in ancient history. For them, thirteen is considered an adult, with those entering into Contract with the military or other such organizations doing so as early as fourteen or fifteen, and Life-Bondings happening as early as well.

It wasn't where she thought she'd settle. She'd thought it all out, made lists, weighed her options, her needs. She couldn't stay at home; the walls were closing in on her, the voices, though much beloved, starting to wear on her. She was a Dragon, she accepted that she was different; luckily her family accepted that as well. She would be taking up her first Contract soon and for that she needed a base, someplace to call her own, if not exactly home, her own lair, at least a temporary home. Even if her temperment didn't require that, her new job would; she could hardly risk drawing attention to her family, perhaps leading danger back to them. 

At first she worked through housing brokers, giving them a detailed list of what she was looking for or specifically NOT looking for, the general area (southwest of London, two hours distance, no closer than that and not much farther). Near the sea, preferably overlooking; NOT near any military establishments. Single dwelling, reasonably modest in size, set far apart from any others, rural or widespread village acceptable. Good soil and light, onsite water - well or running stream, for gardening and household use. Preferably free-hold; failing that, ninety-nine year lease with no restrictions on use. It seemed fairly straightforward to her; while she knew she'd have to wade through a lot of unacceptable places, since she could hardly list out ALL of her preferences, still it shouldn't take long. After all, that's what housing brokers DID, take a list of wants, don't wants, and come up with a list of possibles.

She left it in Mr. Wherewithall's capable hands and went on with deciding what she would absolutely need to keep with her at her new lair and what should go into long-term storage, with another list of what might or might not stay with her depending on how much space she ended up with; that was quite enough to keep her occupied for awhile, and she found it a pleasant occupation to muse over the things she had, determining just how much she treasured each, figuring out proper storage and such. She started in early February, and was pleased to be called by to London by the first of March to take a look at some 'really eligible places; just your cup of tea!'

She'd been taken first to an elegant flat on one of the more elegant streets in Mayfair, one with a six-month lease. She didn't bother going in, much to Mr. Wherewithall's disappointment. She pointed to her list; he had sighed, "but it would have been such a lovely place; you would have been rubbing shoulders with some of the most lovely people!" She reached over to be sure it was HER file he had in his hand, thinking maybe he'd picked up the wrong one by mistake; no such luck.

He then took her to a different part of town, a really large house split into tiny flats. She needed to stretch her legs so she let him guide her through. On a sixty day lease she could be the proud occupant of one cell in what appeared to be a beehive, cubicles within cubicles; they actually walked THROUGH one flat to get to the one up for lease, the current occupant just ignoring them like it was a usual occurrence. He proudly told her that it would be just the thing for a young lady, "someone always about, keeping an eye on things, any activity. Just the security you're looking for! And Mrs. Cunningham acts as sort of house mother; firm, upright Church of England lady, not much gets past her!"

She tried to be polite, took him to tea at a quaint little shop and patiently went over her list again, point by point. Somehow, she wasn't feeling overly optimistic but she had to report to the Grandmother so she left him to it, though urging him to proceed with all haste. 

By the time April rolled around, she had decided Mr. Wherewithall was really Mr. NotAllThere! He looked desolate when she dismissed him after an afternoon looking at his new offerings; the Georgian mansion was the last straw - twenty-seven bedrooms that one had, with most of those being larger than she'd intended her whole establishment to be, requiring a maintenance staff of at least a dozen, and she looked at the ballroom which could easily hold two hundred people well spread out and declined, both the mansion and his further services.

She then introduced herself to Mrs. Gertrude Pestle, a proud career woman who was totally confident of her ability to find just what Miss O'Donnell wanted, submitted her list, took the precaution of going over each item, getting sage nods at each item.

"Of course, my dear Miss O'Donnell, ever so wise; certainly, my dear Miss O'Donnell, most understandable; oh, without question, my dear, dear Miss O'Donnell!" 

Back to Scotland, then a brief trip to Wales, and one long tiring but profitable one to the United States in the company of several of her siblings. Well, the collecting of songs, regional music was frequently both tiring and profitable, even sometimes rather exciting when the locals took exception to their presence, their questions. Texas had been particularly interesting, as she remembered, and the mountainous area called Appalachia eye-opening in many ways. She'd been amazed at the traces she'd found of the music she'd grown up with, though when she learned of the similar roots in the area - Scots, Irish, Welsh, English, she realized she shouldn't have been so surprised.

When she returned, there was a letter waiting and she eagerly made provisions to meet Mrs. Pestle at her London office. She was a little puzzled by their stop at an old but quite well preserved mansion, to be introduced to a grandmotherly woman of some gentility who was looking for a companion; "it would be much more the thing, you know, rather than a young girl like you living by yourself!"

She had an odd feeling, declined the offer of tea, stood up to depart, and when Mrs. Pestle protested, bluntly informed her, "I am leaving, the car is leaving; if you wish to join us I suggest you do so, for you have only three minutes to get your bustle in the car!"

She had a conversation with one of her cousins, and then another with Mrs. Pestle, and Mrs. Pestle was seemingly shocked to discover that that grandmotherly woman of some gentility was a procurement agent for a high-end brothel; that tea most likely would have been drugged. Trying to make amends, she produced the other 'absolute jewels!' she'd found. Meghada refrained from abandoning her on the side of the road after that last viewing, though the temptation was quite strong. 

By the end of June, she had decided one thing; all housing brokers were, if those two were good examples, blind, deaf and quite, quite insane!

By the first of July, she had started having the adverts sent to a postal box, and decided to treat this like one of her Internship tasks. After all, judging by those two, she could hardly do worse! The problem was, time was running short; she needed her own place, her own home and it had to be the RIGHT place; and she needed it NOW, before she started her Contract work. After that, she'd be at someone else's beck and call, no longer so free to do her own bidding.

She pulled out the maps and started. 'West of London' led to a bold slash through the map; two to three hours away led to two strong semi-circles. Military bases were marked and areas surround them were crossed out. Cities were cross out, but more lightly; there was always a faint possibility of something showing up on the outskirts of those, or the rare single dwelling nestled amongst all the rest.

She sat back and studied what was left, pulled out the adverts, planned out a few interesting routes, and made a call to her cousin Logan. In his fifties, of a agreeable disposition, on long-awaited sabbatical from his position, in possession of a new motor car he'd been heard to say he was desirious of 'giving a good long trial, all kinds of roads.' Logan was intrigued and amused, he had always liked his young cousin, had been one of her teachers, felt sympathetic to her predicament. After all, he was rather a loner himself, Hippogriff to her Dragon; he knew how important it was to find the right place, the right lair; his was in Scotland, so far up on a fog-encased mountainside he figured any intruders would just roll right back down if they tried to approach, and any who made it to the top, if he didn't like their explanation for disturbing his peace, he could just toss over the side to land as they will. He packed his bag, obtained funds from his bank, slid in the picnic basket well supplied for their first leg of the journey and was ready to leave when she arrived at their planned meeting spot.

She went over her lists again in her mind - ample space and good soil and water for a garden, the one thing that seemed to soothe her anymore, outside of her music of course. Something far enough from London to avoid being dropped in on casually, yet no more than a couple of hours away for ease of operation. Not near a military base, knowing she'd not likely have the patience for the nonsense of dealing with the soldier and military mentality. Something to the west, away from the continent; near the sea. The smell of salt water seemed to help steady her. She would be avoiding the Stonehenge area, of course; druids, alive or dead (or as dead as a druid tended to get, anyway, which wasn't very), didn't mix particularly well with her kind. No cities, of course; she'd decided even the rare isolated residence within one of those wouldn't suit. Perhaps something totally secluded, in the country. She'd seen adverts for some of those, the relicts of older residents who'd died without heirs, or where their heirs had no fancy for living so far from their nearest neighbor or without modern conveniences. Well, she had no objection to either of those things, so she made a list of the likely spots. She and Logan had driven to see the places that had come to her attention, had taken random drives to see areas where nothing had been advertised but might suit. 

The small village of Brandonshire didn't meet very many of her criterion; indeed had simply been a place they were driving through on the way to somewhere else. She'd seen the small abandoned cottage on the way past, but paid little heed. A village that small had too many people eager to mind everyone else's business, that was obvious by the talk, all the curious questions they'd faced in that small pub where they'd had lunch; she was looking for a place where she wouldn't have to deal with that; too much of what she would be doing was what she did NOT want people discussing. It was fairly close to a military base, too close, would probably have an influx of off-duty soldiers to the pub. Two hours from London, that would work, but to the south east, not to the west, and not near the sea. Yet, something drew her, and after the first accidental viewing, for the third time she'd rerouted their plans to just happen to pass by that cottage AGAIN.

After looking at a place near Bath that met every single one of her criteria and was within the price range she'd determined she was willing to pay, she hesitated, then told Logan, "let's go back to London and I'll think it over. Logan, let's take the road through Brandonshire, maybe have lunch at the pub there," he just looked at her and said, "this will make the fifth time we've gone to Brandonshire, your first sighting of that cottage, three return visits and now; if you're that drawn to the place, you know, there's got to be a reason. The Sweet Mother just might be leading you," and she finally admitted to herself that might be so. Surely there had to be SOME reason why that little abandoned cottage with the out of control grounds on the outskirts of the village appealed to her so, the one just along the road from that overgrown monstrosity of a house that was called, quite simply, The Mansion, occupied by the local 'important family', the Ballantines.

Well, it was one little cottage, but when you actually stopped and got out and walked, you could see there was another cottage to the right with maybe a thirty foot gap between them, and another to the right of that with the same spacing, all three empty, and having been so for some time from the looks of it. She couldn't just see taking the one; that would leave the others open for vagrants or those who chose to pay too much attention to her comings and goings, and if they should be sold to someone else, her privacy would be far gone. Still, three cottages, that much land - was that really something she wanted to use her resources for, wanted the responsibility for? However would she make good use of it? Still, once again, they meandered along the front, came back to view that stone wall surrounding the rear. 

Leaving Logan perched on the bonnet of his car, "if you don't need me, I'd as soon not ruin these clothes!" she crawled through the gap in the wall, wandering and investigating, and when Logan started to lose patience, and he was a very patient man, and called to her from the gap in the wall, she laughed and sent him to drive on to the pub, to book rooms and have a drink, something to eat if he got hungry before she joined him.

"I'll be along later. This is a big decision, Logan; I have to be sure; it is so far from what I'd thought of. Go along, I'll walk back; I want to get a feel for that as well," and he did, taking the car with him, and she wandered the properties, poking into the empty, abandoned cottages, inspecting the well in the back, the wooded area, apple trees at the back of the wall, mixed forest beyond. She got out her notebook to list the questions she'd need answered, including just how far the combined properties went, the availability of any adjoining lands; any restrictions on usage, any codes she needed to be aware of. She had the feeling she needed as much versatility, as few restrictions, as possible; visions flickered at the far edge of her mind, nothing she could see clearly, just enough to push her toward getting what she needed to know, but the overall feeling of a community, perhaps an extended family dwelling, rather than just a cottage kept coming to her, the distant hum of voices, even the occasional faint echo of the prattle of children's voices, not the silence she'd been expecting. None of it made sense, but she'd experienced something like this during her spirit quest, so she just accepted and made her notes.

She made a list of what would have to be done, though not all at once of course, but what would be needed to be accomplished before she could move in. She wasn't one for fancy, would indeed have been quite uncomfortable with fancy, so it shouldn't take too terribly long, not if she had the right people working on it. She closed the notebook and crossing her legs sat on the chill ground at the rear of the first cottage, thinking, letting her mind wander.

Perhaps in those moments the Sweet Mother did speak to her, for when she arose, her hesitation was gone; she knew she had found what she was looking for. There was something here for her, she wasn't sure what that might be, but something, in addition to the obvious shelter. Brushing off the seat of her skirt, she made her way out that broken place in the wall and headed to the pub, to locate Logan and take the first steps in making her own lair.

Three cottages, almost in a long slightly misshapen half-moon carve-out of the forested land, property of the first one extending a good sixty feet to the far side before it joined with the forest, and that portion being Ballantine land. Back a good five hundred feet into the forest for the first and second; the third cottage extended seven hundred feet to the rear. Land available on the far side of the third cottage, enough space for probably another five cottages, though it had never been cleared for that but had lain fallow as meadowland for many years. She had tasted the soil in several places, sweet and rich in all places.

Tall stone fence enclosing a good hundred feet back from the cottages and across the whole width, like these three had formed a tiny village of their own. She noted that it needed repair, that fence, would block some sunshine, but the large middle section should be open enough for most anything she wanted to grow, when the time came for that, and many times the space she'd anticipated; the shaded sides, well there were always crops that would take some shade, and she would have need for those crops as well, and there had to be service areas, of course. It would also provide somewhat of a deterrent to casual trespassers; she'd put in warding guards, certainly, just mild ones that gave a slight tingle of 'unwelcome', nothing like the sharp blasting ones her sister Caeide could form, not til there came a time of need for such. One well, deep, clear and clean; the water, pulled cautiously with the old bucket and frayed rope tasted sweet; the well house would need repair, but was in fair condition. Roofs on the cottages in acceptable condition, though would need replacing in a few years.

The first cottage was the most liveable, needing the fewest things done inside; that was good, as it was also the one that drew her the most; she could feel herself living here. Four rooms, good-sized kitchen and what would be a equally large bedroom; smaller open space (no wall between) to the front of the kitchen that would be a sitting room, smaller even the one opening off from it - a library she could see in her mind. While it would have perhaps made more sense to use the tiny room as her bedroom, make the larger her library, she knew that wasn't right, knew this was how it was SUPPOSED to be.

To her surprise, there was even a loo to the back side of the bedroom; she hadn't expected that; it was odd, of course, that you had to pass through the oversized closet to get to the pocket door that led into the loo, but she knew houses that were renovated often had unusual aspects to them. The pocket door on the library side actually had the appearance of a shallow bookcase, so books and all would be moving when the door was slid open. She wondered how long she could have lived there without finding it, if she hadn't been blessed with such a curiosity bump. With some glee she thought to herself, {"it's rather as if they were ashamed of that modernization, didn't want anyone to know about it!"} She wondered if there was a secret passage leading from that tiny room, an escape tunnel. She blinked at that thought, and remarked out loud, "that wouldn't be such a bad idea, actually; I'll have to investigate when I have time. If not, I wonder if one could be added, if not there, perhaps somewhere else. Could come in handy." 

Upon inquiry, it seemed that the local constable was also acting as agent for the properties; no one had expressed any interest since the previous residents had either died or moved away, and while he was surprised at the interest now, he had no qualms about giving the mature man and very young woman, hardly more than a girl, all the information they requested. If he was puzzled that it was the girl who did most of the questioning, he didn't let that bother him overly much.

Still, Ben Miller was a sensible man, and a cautious one, and after the discussion had started, had excused himself to call and summon his wife Alice; he trusted her judgement and intelligence more than he did his own, especially when dealing with other females. He explained that with a calm, "Alice knew the prior residents and was in and out of all three cottages; she'll be able to tell you things I can't, you know."

The young woman had laughed when Alice had confirmed her thoughts about that loo. "Davie and Marion had it installed for old Mrs. Lawson, thinking to please her, thinking it wasn't seemly for his grandmother to still be using a chamber pot and privy, nor taking her bath in a metal tub in the kitchen. She was all smiles, all thanks, and as soon as they'd gone, called in Old Howie, almost in tears about the 'sheer nastiness of having such a germ-ridden thing in her clean cottage'. He figured out adding the closet on the one side with that little door at the back (she'd just used a row of hooks on the wall previously); the pocket door with that one skinny shelf on the other side. I don't think it was ever used, though it should be all laid on! They'd even installed the boiler to serve the taps in there, though Mrs. Lawson just continued heating water on her stove, just like she always had, and the metal tub was never taken out of commission."

They talked about the fine garden Mrs. Lawson used to have, and while Mr. Connal in the middle cottage grew mostly flowers, Mrs. Landry in the third one was known for her rabbits and chickens and ducks. "Mrs. Lawson AND Mr. Connal made themselves free of the droppings and waste straw, and the grounds of all three are rich with so many helpings over all those years! Should be able to grow whatever you are of a mind to, I'd think."

She heard about the well, "they all three shared, and to my recollection, it never ran low, even in the dryest summers we had. Of course, none of them had the modern conveniences til much later. Mrs. Lawson, as we said, never used that loo, Mrs. Landry never put one in. Now, Mr. Connal did, and seemed quite pleased, but he also installed a water tank for collecting rain water so that helped offset any extra usage. The two women rather turned up their noses, but allowed with him being a man, it was only natural he wouldn't be quite so fastidious." 

Still, it was a bit of a shock when at the end of the conversation Ben Miller found himself with a bankchecque in hand, full purchase price for the three cottages, not a lease but a free-hold purchase, with a five year option on all the adjacent land, renewable upon agreement. The discussion shifted to who would be best to do the repairs needed, the contacts she'd need within the village, and various other things. For Ben was also surprised to learn it would be the young woman who would be residing there, alone, though the sale was done in the name of the older man in consideration of her age. There was no question she knew what she wanted, intended, and when Ben looked over at Alice to see her opinion, he found her nodding in agreement, not in the least concerned about this newest village resident.

Later Ben would express his concern that a 'honey bird' was setting up in the village, but Alice had laughed and reassured him. "No, not that. I'm not sure what the story is, but she's not that. And he is, I'd wager, exactly what he said, her older cousin helping her with the search and formalities. No, Ben, a honey bird would be looking for a soft nest and a temporary one, not one that needed as much work and effort as that place will take. She's looking for a home, yearning after a home, and I'm thinking she's found it. I don't believe we'll regret welcoming her."

Alice agreed now with the young woman, "yes, that would give you a good start, make the place liveable, a bit more secure, not that we tend to have trouble around here, but with you living there alone, it wouldn't be wise to take chances. So, the wall repaired, sturdy tall metal gate installed with a decent lock; need to have lads from Bayside for that; we've no one local anymore since Morehead died. New doors and locks throughout, locks for the windows. Again, Bayside's your best bet; it's as close to local as you can get, so no one's backs will be up about you going farther away for what you can't get here, not like you went to Kreeve or London or any place like that. Get the fireplaces checked and cleaned, and the boiler and the stove; Old Howie can do that quite well. He can handle checking the pipes for the loo and basins and such, as well as building those bookshelves and things inside, getting the wellhouse repaired for use. Household things, do you have your own or will you need to be purchasing them? The housegoods store here has some, but most will need ordering in, the furniture and such, unless you're looking for used, in which case Mrs. Wilson has a tidy supply in that back building of hers. Not really a business as such, but she has a fancy for auctions and household selldowns and such, has for years now, so does some buying and selling." They were assured that she already had the basic furniture and startup, but prefered to buy local for whatever she could of the rest. That got nods of appreciation; they had never liked the tendency of newcomers, either short-term or long, to purchase away, and those at The Mansion had never seen fit to do business locally, seeming to feel themselves above that.

"My family will be bringing in what I have, helping me to set it all up. I'll see Mrs. Wilson for any other, and the local merchants, of course." 

She hesitated, taking the measure of the sandy haired constable and his wife. "I'll be often away; what provisions do I need to make to have you, or someone you know to be reliable, keep an eye on the place for me while I'm gone? I'm, well, I'm a bit of a recluse, I have to admit; not one for having people in for tea and chatter, and the idea of strangers, even acquaintances inside the grounds, whether I'm about or not, it makes me very uneasy. My nerves are a little tightly drawn for that."

The two easily agreed to that; well, it was part of his job anyway, and Alice had developed a strong liking for the girl. Meghada excused herself to visit the facilities and as she drew out of sight, Logan, the older man snorted, "and what she's not said, probably trying to figure out how to tell you? She's a good one, none better in my opinion, but more than a bit, well, peppery. She may cause some excitement, at least til people get used to her and her ways. She's not a social person, as she implied. She doesn't let herself be approached easily, and doesn't allow the lads to take liberties. She's got the temper from Hades, and not reluctant to show it. There's been more than a few heads gotten their lumps in the learning of that. It's to be hoped that the menfolk around here are quick in understanding. She's easy to deal with, though, with those of good will, honest and not one to take advantage, try to skin anyone; won't abide for anyone trying to skin her either though. Fair dealing meets with fair dealing."

Alice shrugged, "she's a right to live her life as she chooses; not everyone likes to rub shoulders hither and yon. I daresay there will be a few who won't take the warning, but it seems it won't take long til they learn. You are saying she CAN take care of such trouble herself, yes? Though of course Ben and I will keep an eye out as well." "Oh, yes, she's quite handy at taking care of herself," and the young woman returned, and the talk turned once more to whether Old Howie would also be the one to clear land, dig the beds for the gardens she had in mind, for she had a great yearning for that. Soon it was all in place, the plans anyway, and when Meghada and Logan retired to their rooms, they were well satisfied with what had been accomplished. 

***

She drove up to the Cottage, parking alongside, got out and unlocked that sturdy iron close-fretwork gate and stepped inside. Inside the repaired enclosing wall, she paused, took a deep breath and looked around in satisfaction. Ground cleared just as she'd drawn out, trees and shrubs pruned quite expertly, deep garden beds dug and mellowing, soon ready for planting if she chose, for mulching over if she didn't. Unlike her long-gone, not-missed housing agents, Old Howie and the others she'd hired seemed to understand and follow instructions quite well. The wellhouse looked in good repair, new rope and bucket in place.

She unlocked the door to the first cottage, stepping into the clean and freshly painted kitchen. She took her time, walking through, checking cupboards, checking the sink to be sure the pump was working properly, the faucets as well. On through to the sitting room, now furnished with her tiny spinnet piano and bench, sideboard, two big oversized armchairs in lieu of a couch or loveseat, big soft patterned rug. She checked to be sure the telephone was working, the electric had been turned on, the oil lamps in place for the inevitable outages. She'd already noted the stacked firewood outside, some split for the fireplace, some for the stove; a small electric stove was ordered but had to be custom-built. She'd not discard the wood stove though; some things just tasted better for a long simmering, it was ideal for drying herbs above, and the electric was still not reliable in this part of the country; if war came, as she felt sure it would, electric might be a fond memory only. Having both would mean she didn't have to do without warm wash water or hot coffee, and at least one warm room in the house, and that alone was worth giving up the extra space.

The library held its new shelves and the books and music she'd spent so much time selecting from the storeroom where she had so many more waiting for the right time. Desk, chair, lamps, Murphy bed folded neatly into the wall; through the pocket door into the small loo, with its shower and new deep tub; she would probably still reserve that tub for when she really NEEDED it, considering the drain on the water supply, but there were times like that. Finally finishing the circuit, through the second pocket door in the loo into her bedroom, the door now more easily accessible, the closet trimmed down now it no longer had to act as a beard. The bedroom opened again onto the kitchen. The bedroom was of a generous size for a cottage, with windows on two sides, to the carpark side (and those shuttered tightly, with just that tiny viewing spot she'd drilled off to the side, and then to the back overlooking what would be the gardens. Finally back in the kitchen, she drew water to make a pot of coffee, got the fire started in the firebox, and made the trip back to her car to get the boxes of groceries and staples and linens and all the rest to stock her new home. 

She'd just put the first box on the kitchen table when she heard the footsteps behind her. There in the doorway was a man she hadn't seen before, and somehow knew she didn't like. Youngish, maybe in his late thirties, skinny, patchy dark beard as if he'd just skipped shaving for a day or two, not quite as clean looking as she'd have preferred. Oh, she had nothing against getting dirty; many of the things that needed doing involved getting dirty. But she was firmly of the opinion that once the job was done, if you had the resources available, you should rectify that situation, and this dirt looked older than from today or even yesterday, somehow. She shrugged inside, {"maybe he doesn't HAVE the resources. I mustn't be so quick to judge."}

She quickly thought of what approach to take; she had no intention of saying any of the things that could be taken wrong, or used as an excuse afterwards, so that left out 'do you need something?' Or 'can I help you?' Or anything like that. It certainly left out 'please come in'! There would be damned few who got that invitation; this was her lair, not a railway station!

Walking to the doorway, placing herself so he couldn't come across the threshold without her moving out of the way, which she had no intention of doing, she settled on a cool but polite, "have you some business here? This is private property, you know."

She got a sly and most unappetizing smirk and wink, "now, missie, we don't take that so much to heart around here. We're a friendly place; don't keep anything all so private amongst ourselves; make ourselves pretty much to home as we like. Just came to welcome you, be friendly like. Young thing like you, you'll need someone around to give you a hand at times. Lonely being so far from the village, too." He reached out as if to lay his hand on her arm, and got a cold, "don't!"

He gave another one of those smirks, one she knew now for certain she didn't like or appreciate, and reached out again, drawing his hand down her arm, "now, missy, don't be that way. I can be . . . ".

She never knew what he was going to say, she really didn't care. Before he could finish the sentence, she'd hit him in the gut, then a quick fist to the jaw, blessing those bronze rings she wore on her middle three fingers. {"Just like brass knuckles, though I do end up with bruises."}

She'd dragged him out to the side of the cottage, outside the gate, locked up behind her and drove to the small constabulary. She walked in to find Ben Miller behind his desk, "well, hello again!" They'd parted not two hours ago when she'd checked in with him when she drove into the village. "Something wrong?"

"Well, that depends. There's a man laying outside my cottage, made his way in around the back, seemed rather insistent on my allowing him in and showing him some hospitality. I rather dented him; I do hope that won't be a problem."

Ben snorted, "let me guess," and gave a very detailed description.

"Aye, that's him. I'm thinking he's that Doby Clevens Alice told me about; at least I'm hoping there aren't more than one of his sort running around."

"Oh, it's Doby alright. I'll come and fetch him away."

"I see your cousin was right; you do have the knacking for handling yourself," Ben said as he looked down at the man still curled on the parking area, moaning.

"Well, I do my best," she grinned, and Ben returned the grin.

"Come along, Doby; seems you've made yourself unwelcome here," the constable said as he hauled the man up by his shirt collar. In the brief ride back to the constabulary Ben listened to a snarling Doby tell him about "that little bitch! No call to up and hit me like that! Just trying to be friendly was all!"

"Yes, well, I'd suggest you NOT; doesn't take it well from what I've heard OR seen. Just stay away and mind your manners and it'll be fine," not having any confidence in that at all; he'd known Doby all his life, and a more sly and nasty-minded individual he'd rarely met. "Her family tells me she's more than a bit peppery; likes her privacy and having no patience for any who try anything on or try to mind her affairs. Best keep that in mind, Doby! I'm not going to be too happy with that sort of thing either! Stay away from her, stay away from the property or I'll have you up on charges!"

Later that night, having gotten things arranged to her liking, she took inventory. She'd added internal shutters for the front windows, even though the cottage already had external ones that she'd latched and locked; together the sets made sure she would not be overlooked by passersby, but she could tilt the blades on the interior ones to allow some muted drifts of sunlight on good days, the blades on both sets if she decided to open the glass for airing out the cottage. She'd had new locks installed, more for appearances sake than ought else, for she'd exchanged the keying mechanism on each of them herself, and supplemented them with better ones, hidden ones that first weekend she'd come down, when she was still staying at the Pub. As far as she knew, the workmen were honest, but keys did have a way of floating at times. Now, she was the only one who had the keys, other than Ben Miller; she was truly the only one who knew how to unfasten the hidden locks, but she'd not engaged those during the renovations.

The fireplace drew well, she noted, as she held out her hands to the friendly blaze; she'd be sure to thank Old Howie for all his efforts on her behalf. Ben had said he could be trusted, but Alice had come or Ben himself to supervise any interior work just to put her mind at ease, and it had been one or other of the Friends and Family that'd installed the iron grate halfway up the chimney, that lovely little secret entrance, and the few other security measures she'd put in place.

She took another look around. She'd been right about the off-white and tan; it looked well by itself, would look equally well with the medium blue accents she had in mind, maybe alternating with a brick red to match the floor in the kitchen, though the rest of the floors were a lovely pecan color, as were the cabinets, bookcases and few wooden pieces she had. For her bedroom, the tan had a warmer tone, and went surprisingly well with the lavenders and off-white she used in there. Perhaps pure white might have looked a tad more crisp to begin with, but with the fireplace and woodburning stove, pure white would have changed to dirty white before the winter was half gone, and she didn't fancy anything with 'dirty' in the appearance. No, she was content. Her guitars were in place, the small harp as well, hung on the wall out of the way, music in the music bench, more in the library; the closet was almost empty, as she had very little use for the fancy. That would change over time, but for now she was well content. 

Bread and cheese and red wine for a late supper, a last look at the list of things to do next, a last check of the locks and other security measures she'd put into place, and she was ready to settle down for sleep. Tomorrow would be planting the first of the garden, getting her mind in order for the next steps, getting in perishables. She had a meeting scheduled with Mrs. Wilson, the local washerwoman, as suggested by Alice Tanner, if you wanted to call Meghada getting an invitation to stop in for tea and biscuits anything that formal; Alice had said Mrs. Wilson would be the one to put her in the know about the lay of the land, those who could supply her needs, those to avoid, and she wanted a good browse through that storeroom of used furniture. She still needed a kitchen table and chairs, some small tables and the like.

She intended to make a stop at the pub, The Doves, too; she'd like what she'd seen of the place, and while she wasn't much of a one for drinking in public, it would be an important place to obtain information; she needed to build some good will there. Alice had said Lou and Jake, the bartenders, were good sorts, and Nellie the barmaid as well.

She had no doubt she'd be hearing from Major Kevin Richards before long; her contract officially started in another month, and with war looming on the distant horizon, she knew she and the others like her would be busy indeed. Still, now she had a base, a home from which to work. A Dragon's life was most often a solitary one and rarely a very long one, but that didn't mean her lair had to be an uncomfortable one for the time she had. She snuggled down into the crisp sheets and pulled the lavender print quilt up closer and slept. Somewhere in the mists, dreams swirled, soft voices echoed, and her mind was soothed by the mysteries that lay ahead.


End file.
